


Paint the World With Bright Colors

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Art, Drabbles, Friendship, Memories, Recovery, Tumblr Prompt, mention of John Silver, past Flint/Silver, quiet moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 19:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11493528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Max and Thomas share a moment.





	Paint the World With Bright Colors

Max felt him watching her, but unlike most men, Thomas’s gaze didn’t bother her in the slightest. He merely watched her paint in silent observation without interruption, nor did he press closer to offer his compliments or unwanted opinions. A rare man indeed, she mused, her brush flicking carefully over the delicate frame of the small shell.

And since he had been quiet and noninvasive, she extended an invitation. “Would you like to come closer to watch?”

“Won’t that disturb you?” Thomas asked quietly. He sat at another table in the front of the tavern, waiting for James to finish his business, but his attention had been drawn to Max from the moment he noticed her painting underneath the window, making the most of the afternoon light.

“No.” Max kept her eyes on the shell before her, but she offered him a small smile as he drew closer. “Does painting interest you?”

“Yes.” Thomas watched her fingers move carefully, her brush strokes even and nimble.

“Do you paint?” Max asked when he offered nothing more.

“I used to contemplate it.” Thomas said, “But…” He glanced down at his hands, surveying his calloused palms with a wry expression. “They’re a little too rough now.”

“Let me see.” Max set down her brush and reached over to take his right hand before he could stop her.

“You don’t have to.” Thomas started, a little self-conscious now that she was holding his palm in hers.

Max simply held his hand gently and he fell silent.

“I see callouses, from undeserved labor, but nothing to keep you from holding a brush. Are they sensitive, perhaps?” She pinched the tip of his forefinger, almost teasingly.

“Ow.” Thomas said. “No, not precisely.”

Max smiled, but then her face grew serious as she examined his hand once more. “Do they ache when there are storms?”

“Yes…sometimes.” Thomas looked at her. “How did you know?”

“I know someone who had such trouble after many years doing similar labor.” Max released his hand and sat back. “She used a coconut balm and it helped her a good deal. I could show you how to make it if you like.”

“Yes, thank you.” Thomas said.

Max reached for her brush again. “You have questions.”

“How did you learn to do this?” Thomas understood her allowing him to ask this was a rare offer and he intended to make the most of it.

“When I was a little girl, my mother used to collect shells and paint them to sell. It was her only way of making a little money for herself. Money that her master did not take from her. I think it amused him to let her.” Max kept painting as she spoke, one soft stroke after another.

“She used to go out to the beach and find the purest, whitest shells and bring them home in a basket. I would sit at her feet, watching her add all her colors.” Max’s voice lilted in memory of her mother’s hands working away. “They sold well enough for island trinkets.”

She set the finished shell on the table to dry and reached for another.

“Do you think you can teach me that?” Thomas asked, aware that while one often has a skill of one’s own, it is by no means pleasant to try to teach another person the same skill.

“Yes, if you like.” Max offered him the dish of shells she had and he selected a small ridged one.

Max showed him how painting the shell was easier if you turned it sideways and swept the thin rivets individually before sweeping over the whole of the shell with a one broad stroke.

Thomas’s fingers were slow to the brush at first, but as he practiced, they grew more agile, the brush more familiar once more in his hand, and Max pronounced his first effort ‘not bad at all.’

Thomas smiled and then looked down at the shell in his palm, his expression growing slightly quiet.

Max looked at him thoughtfully. “Would you perhaps like to paint some flame streaked shells for our flame-haired lovers?”

Thomas’s smile brightened the melancholy curve of his lips. “I would like that.”

They painted together in companionable silence, dipping their brushes in the rust rest paint and the orange of the sunset and the soft pink that blended so well between the two.

“There.” Max said as they set them aside. She glanced again at Thomas, who was holding another shell in front of him with a contemplative look.

“And perhaps, a blue one as well,” Max added, “For the one he misses across the sea?”

Thomas looked up at her slowly. “You are a very perceptive woman.” He nodded, a faint smile blossoming upon his lips. “Yes, I believe he would like that.”

He placed his brush in the water, washing it carefully before dipping it into the blue.


End file.
